


Once and Future

by doorwaytoparadise, Pearl09



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Death, Community: Do It With Style Events, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Violence, Love Triangles, Minor Character Death, Pining, aziraphale and crowley were not harmed in the making of this fic, only training is actually written out, so there are no deaths on screen, the canon deaths are in arthurian legend, training and tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: Two assignments from two vastly different groups, Heaven and Hell, and yet they both wanted the same thing from their respective Earth delegates. To watch a child, and be with them as they grew up. They were two separate children, but both were watched together under the careful eyes of the angel Aziraphale and the wary eyes of the demon Crowley. They both knew that one child was destined for the throne of the very place they currently resided in, Camelot, but neither knew the other was a key factor in its downfall. And they certainly didn't expect to get caught up in the human's chaos themselves.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Arthur, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Lancelot, Lancelot du Lac & Arthur Pendragon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Once and Future

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a product of the Do It With Style reverse bang! Art is by Sungmee/doorway to paradise. You can find their [tumblr here!](https://sungmee.tumblr.com/) I can also be found [here](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Rise, Sir Aziraphale, knight of Camelot,” the king said, removing his sword from Aziraphale’s shoulder. “And may you prove to be a worthy protector of the kingdom.”

He stood as he was told, a smile on his face as those around the room started to applaud. His fellow knights seemed to be the loudest, and considering he was going to spend most of his time around them while Heaven stationed him in Camelot, that was a good thing.

The inside of the castle was a work of wonder. Large, polished stone columns held the high, intricate wooden ceiling up, while also holding sconces for the torches that lit the room. Each window was filled with a different array of stained glass. The dark wooden floors contrasted the bright stone walls, though both of them were covered with a rug and banners respectively. It wouldn’t be a throne room without banners declaring the current king’s house crest, and the Pendragons were always one to flaunt that. Truly, a lot of craftsmanship had gone into the room. The great hall was no different, save for the lack of a rug, as it would only wear with all of the foot traffic of a feast.

As the knights gathered here after the ceremony, preparing for the feast to celebrate the knighting of Aziraphale and two others, Aziraphale was more focused on a different task. Through the crowds, he looked around for the child with a mop of dirty blond hair on his head. He was the reason Aziraphale was there, afterall. Arthur was destined to do great things, and heaven wanted to make sure there were no hindrances. 

He found Arthur on the other side of the room already, his small, nimble frame allowing him to easily traverse the crowds, weaving around and through legs in the halls. He was bothering one of the maids who was finishing the table settings, begging her for food. 

“Now, is that how a prince should act?” Aziraphale said, catching Arthur’s attention as he turned around.

The maid mouthed a quick “thank you” to Aziraphale before escaping out the side door that led down to the kitchens.

“Who’re you?” Arthur asked, wiping his nose with his hand.

“Sir Aziraphale,” he said with a small bow. “I was just knighted. You shouldn’t bother the maids and other servants when they are working. Especially not for food when we’re about to have a feast!”

He groaned dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “But Father takes forever to speak beforehand, and I’m hungry _now_. Just a sliver was all I was asking for.”

Aziraphale frowned, not sure what to do, but he knew he needed to gain Arthur’s trust, and maybe even befriend him. He reached into his cloak and materialized a small sweetroll, pulling it back out and watching Arthur’s eyes sparkle. “Alright, I’ll let you have this. But don’t tell anyone else I allowed you to have sweets before a proper meal!”

“How did you do that?”

“Oh, er–” he looked around before leaning towards him in a conspiratory manner. “It’s magic. But don’t tell anyone, or I don’t think I’d be able to make another appear for you.”

He nodded in awe before saying, “Thank you!” Then, grabbing the sweetroll, he stuffed it into his face as fast as he could. Chuckling, Aziraphale helped him clean his hands and face before Arthur ran off again, disappearing once more.

Even though Arthur was crucial to his presence in Camelot, Aziraphale did not pursue. He knew how fickle humans could be – if he wanted to gain his trust, if he wanted to try and befriend the child, he would have to do it slowly. Too much at once, and it would make them weary of him. Besides, now that the hall had filled, other knights were approaching him, wanting to introduce themselves and learn more about him.

He had practiced and perfected his lie many times before he arrived at Camelot a few weeks ago. The knights code forbade anyone who was not a noble from taking the oath. As an angel of the Lord, there wasn’t really anything he could do to be more noble. However, the humans would never accept that, may not even believe him, so he faked his nobility with a miracle. It was just a piece of paper, really, but he had ensured he was in all of the old, official documents too, so if they went searching, they would see it appeared that he was there the whole time.

The knights also found his swordsmanship to be amazing. Though the sword now strapped to his side was no flaming one, nor did it have the capacity to produce flames, he hadn’t brought that with him to Eden for nothing. He had sword training in Heaven, and was one of the best users. He was even in charge of a platoon of angels for when the next war happened. Because of this, he rose through the ranks of the new recruits quite quickly, gaining attention he had never meant to receive. It seemed all the better, however, as he could fit in easily with all of the other knights.

After a while of chatting as the servants brought up the food they prepared, King Uther finally cleared his throat and asked for everyone to sit. It took a few minutes as everyone was spread out and there were no assigned seats besides the king’s table. Once everyone had managed to find a free seat, however, the hall fell silent, waiting for what would come next. Uther stood back up, his chair scratching the floor underneath. With a goblet in hand, he raised it as he said, “To the knights of Camelot, old and knew. May your protection of this land grant us peace and prosperity for years to come!” He drank from the goblet once his speech was finished, and the hall immediately erupted into cheers as the knights and others attending the feast began to dig in, pulling meats and sides towards them to load up their plates as servants quickly ran around filling goblets with wine.

At one point during the feast, Aziraphale caught the eye of Arthur, who was staring at him from his seat next to his father. He held a leg of one of the cooked animals on their table between his hands and was tearing it apart with his teeth, but he paused long enough to smile at Aziraphale. He smiled back and lifted his own goblet in acknowledgement, like a silent toast. Surely this was a good start to getting the child to like him. 

It wasn’t long after Aziraphale’s knighting when a problem arose in the kingdom. Uther called an emergency meeting among the knights when he heard the news, and they quickly gathered in the throne room, anxiously awaiting his news and orders.

“A problem has risen along our eastern border. Some of you may know of the bandit the people have taken to calling the black knight. He has been terrorizing our neighbors for awhile now, and finally breached our borders a few days ago. Word of this has just reached us, but I can assume he is still in the kingdom, or in the nearby area. I would like to dispatch a few knights to see if they can rid our lands of him, by whatever means necessary. Who among you is willing to risk their life for the sake of the kingdom you’ve all vowed to protect?”

“I will!” Aziraphale yelled, the first to volunteer. He needed to show his worth after all, to be sure they wouldn’t think about kicking him out any time soon. He was the guardian of Eden’s eastern gate, too. Wouldn’t the east border be a similar thing, so it should also be under his protection?

A few other knights joined him in volunteering, and were sent out later that same day. They rode horses from the stables to ensure their journey would be quick, but Aziraphale knew they would have to part with the horses eventually if they were to try and sneak up on the black knight. They stopped in a small clearing for the night, too far away from any of the towns and villages to try and find shelter in a tavern or inn. Aziraphale turned up his nose at the thought of laying on the ground amidst the twigs and leaves. Instead he offered to keep watch, finding a suitable stump to sit on and making sure the fire had enough fuel to keep the others warm through the night. 

He was lucky none of them commented on how he had not gotten sleep – they all knew the nerves a trip like this could bring, especially on your first excursion. It was good that they had assumed it was nerves. He hadn’t shut his eyes once for sleep in the 4000 or so years he had been on Earth, and wasn’t planning on doing so any time soon. 

Fog started to appear as they continued their journey after a quick meal, which worried Aziraphale. It wasn’t an unnatural occurrence, of course, but usually they would have seen it when they woke and it slowly vanished, not the other way around. When he asked about this, one of the other knights shrugged and told him of the swamp nearby. The amount of water in it was prone to making fog, even during the day when the sun was shining bright. The town that had seen the black knight last was nearby, so they must be close.

He had no idea that the person causing so much of a ruckus was Crowley. They hadn’t seen each other for a few centuries, so he didn’t know he was in the area. What a bother – he couldn’t just go back to Camelot empty handed, nor allow the knights there to witness he actually knew the black knight. It would ruin his reputation if they told anyone. With a miracle, he had to modify the knights memories after talking to Crowley. He wasn’t very creative, but did his best to invent a battle in which no one was hurt and the black knight was scared off. Hopefully, after their little conversation and the realization that Aziraphale was in Camelot, Crowley would leave the place alone.

The other knights told the story of this battle when they returned to the castle. They were no bards, but it was necessary to recall as many of the fictitious details as they could so the king would know what had happened. Arthur, hovering nearby, listened raptly and with wide eyes. At least it seemed to fascinate him. Aziraphale decided to pay more attention to their story after that in case Arthur decided to ask about it later.

~~~

Crowley slowly shed the armor he was wearing as he walked along the road alone, muttering to himself. “Bloody angel, stupid Camelot, stupid assignment…” He had never really liked the clunky metal anyway, but he had liked the theatrics it involved. Of course, as soon as he had run into Aziraphale in it and he ruined his attempt to still play the role, everything just fell flat. Though he wasn’t really causing any harm to begin with, and his men had been starting to wonder about that, he felt bad after meeting with Aziraphale. Then he had to go and flat out refuse his proposed arrangement too. It was time to put an end to the black knight.

The rest of his men parted ways from him, deciding to stick together and be a proper group of bandits, but Crowley decided this time, he would try to ignore Hell’s orders. Clearly the humans were better at that sort of thing than he ever would be. Eventually he had to stop to take the rest of the armor off, not really able to remove his greaves while walking. He pushed through the undergrowth and off of the path to find a place to sit. As he did, he stumbled upon a large lake, stretching almost out to the horizon. If he hadn’t left the foggy swamps behind already, he would have thought this was the cause of all that fog.

Near the lake was a stump, so after taking in the sight of the previously hidden body of water, he plopped down on the old wood and lifted his leg, starting to undo the straps holding the last of his armor on. As soon as the last piece of encumbering armor was off of his body and he was debating on whether to chuck them into the lake, there was a rattling in the nearby bushes that caught his attention. It was too much noise for most small animals that would be normal in a place like this. He suddenly regretted tossing his sword up that tree.

It turns out he had nothing to fear when a dirty child broke through the leaves and into the clearing, freezing at the sight of Crowley. His clothes were all tattered, and, upon further inspection, his skin looked to be covered in red bumps and a couple of bruises. His brown hair was limp and greasy. It was no secret Crowley had a soft spot for children, as whenever he tried to hide it, he only made it more obvious. So his expression softened at the sight of the child, silently wondering what he was doing all alone.

There were a few moments of silence before the boy spoke. His lip trembling and his eyes threatening to spill over with tears, he asked, “Have you seen my mother?”

Crowley frowned and turned properly to face him. “I haven’t seen anyone around here. When did you last see her?”

The boy wiped his eyes with the edge of his sleeve and sniffed. “I – I don’t know. I lost track.”

“Have you been here over night?”

He nodded and sniffed again. “A few. Mother was – was worried, cause I got sick, so we left town together and – and…”

“Shhh,” Crowley said softly, not needing him to finish. He had seen the type of sickness the boy has before. It could be highly contagious, and there was usually no cure. People who caught it were usually forced out of the towns, living on the roads until they died. She had probably abandoned him out here for the same reason. With little hesitation, he beckoned the boy over. “What’s your name?”

“...Lancelot,” he said as he hesitantly made his way closer, reaching towards Crowley’s outstretched hand. 

“Lancelot.” Crowley smiled warmly as the boy’s small hand landed in his, and he covered it with his other one. He could feel his demonic miracle working under his hand – the red blisters and blue bruises on his hand vanished, and it spread out over his entire body. Soon the only markings left on his skin was dirt. 

A smile cracked Lancelot’s cracked lips as he looked at his other hand, now clear. “How did you do that?”

“Er… magic.”

“Wow.”

Crowley realized a few moments later that he was still holding Lancelot’s hand and quickly let go, looking around to be sure no one was watching. The boy was cured now, sure, but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to just leave him alone. Looking over him once more, he said, “How would you like to go for a swim to clean you up?”

They hopped in the lake together, taking care to clean the dirt off of Lancelot, but pretty soon it stopped being about cleaning and more about playing. Crowley didn’t really participate, but that didn’t stop Lancelot. He swam in circles, splashed around, and even started laughing. Crowley was glad he was feeling better.

After they had had their fill, Crowley used another quick miracle to dry them off, aweing Lancelot once again. The sun was getting low and the forests could be dangerous alone, especially for a young child. He was surprised at how enthusiastic Lancelot’s answer was when he offered to stay the night with him there in the clearing. Maybe then in the morning Crowley could help him try to find his town and his mother again, so he wouldn’t feel the guilt on his conscience for leaving a child in danger.

Crowley woke before Lancelot in the morning. He wasn’t surprised as he had barely slept, not trusting the humans to leave them alone during the night. When he did get up, he noticed a strange, rolled-up scroll resting on the stump nearby. It reeked of demonic energy, and suddenly Crowley dreaded each step closer to it. Was it a new assignment, even though he was technically still in the middle of his other one? He hadn’t even reported on it yet, not that anything he would have said was true. Did they somehow find out he messed up?

With shaky hands, he undid the knot tying the parchment closed and let the string fall to the ground. There were only four words on the paper, but he was certain a demon had written them. It even had the seal of Beelzebub on it. He lowered the parchment and looked at Lancelot before reading it again. _Look after the child._

The scroll fell from his hands and burst into flames, becoming a pile of ash by the time it reached the ground. He knew Lancelot wasn’t the antichrist, as Hell would have made a much bigger deal out of this. Plus, it wasn’t time yet. But if they took a special interest in him – in the poor boy, his clothes still in tatters, his now curly hair falling over his face, then it couldn’t be anything good. He was almost scared of what the child might be now, or what he might become. He needed help.

He needed Aziraphale.

Crouching, Crowley slowly shook Lancelot awake. He squinted as he started to wake, a smile forming on his face at the sight of Crowley. “You’re still here! You didn’t leave!”

“I’m not going to leave you, Lancelot,” Crowley crooned. Lancelot’s mother had given him up and abandoned him. It would have never been a good idea to give him back to her, for it would be all too easy for her to do it again later. So, Crowley made a decision. “I’m going to be your new mother.”

~~~

“Arthur?” Aziraphale called, stooping to check under the table. He had just seen the boy running around the castle giggling, when he knew he was supposed to be in a meeting soon. Knowing Arthur, from his time with him so far, he probably ran away from whichever poor servant was tasked with cleaning him up and getting him dressed, and was trying to escape to the knights’ training grounds. However, he was clever and sneaky, and had evaded anyone currently looking for him.

As he thought, he found Arthur hiding behind a short wall near the training grounds, watching the knights spar with each other through a small arrow slit in the structure. When he noticed Aziraphale had found him, he turned and looked up sheepishly.

“You should be getting ready for that meeting, young man,” he said sternly, only to be met with an eye roll.

“But I don’t _want_ to. The meetings are always so boring. And sometimes even annoying. You know the last time father opened the throne room up to hear what the people had to say, someone brought in a live goat? It wouldn’t shut up.”

“The time the people can petition the king is one of the most important meetings a king can hold. And one day, this task will fall to you. The only way you can learn how this works is from your father, and he believes a hands-on experience is a better approach. Meaning, he asks you to be there to watch and learn from him.” Arthur crossed his arms and pouted, and Aziraphale knew it would take more convincing to get the boy to go. So, he crouched down as best he could and said, “If you go, maybe I’ll think about letting you get one of those wooden swords in your hands and start your training.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully, beaming.

“Really. I usually keep to my promises. But you have to be on your best behavior, and, if you want training to last, you need to stop running away from your servants.”

“I can do that!” He stood up and started running back towards the castle. 

Aziraphale chuckled as he watched him leave, weaving through the legs of other knights. When he realized one of them was the head of the knights and was headed towards him, he stood straighter and adopted a more somber expression.

“There you are, Aziraphale,” he said. “I need you on the next guard shift in the market. It’s near time to switch and give the others their break.”

“Certainly, sir. Shall I head over now, or wait for whomever else you plan on sending with me as relief?”

“Go ahead down, there’s no use in waiting.”

With a nod, Aziraphale turned around and walked away from the castle into the town proper. The market was in the middle of the town, right between the nobles’ district and where everyone else lived for easy access to both. It was the most popular spot daily – the water well for the city lay in the center of the square, so many women and children and the occasional man would travel to and from it. Around the rest of the square, wooden carts and stalls laden with goods made makeshift roads as they blocked the way, selling their wares to those who stop and trying to convince those who walk past that they do, in fact, need something at the cart. Because of the high population, there were always multiple guards posted throughout the area. 

Aziraphale had his pick of where he wanted to be, since he was one of the first of the new shift to make it there. So he chose near the bard’s stand, hoping they would be willing to share a story or two that he could listen in on while he watched over the crowd. For now, though, they played nonsensical music on their instruments and danced around, trying to attract attention and draw a crowd.

During his shift, Aziraphale noticed a little boy running around who seemed to be Arthur’s age. He chuckled to himself as he stopped by the bards wide-eyed, knowing if he was anything like Arthur this morning, he was probably a handful for his parents. Still, since he didn’t see any adults watching over him from nearby, he thought the boy had run away, so he kept a close eye on him. For the moment, he was enraptured by the bards, but should he run off again without his parents finding him, Aziraphale was going to follow.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. After a few minutes a woman approached and picked the child up, holding him on her hip. Everything seemed fine until the pair turned towards Aziraphale. It was then that he realized he recognized that bright red hair and the dark glasses sitting on the woman’s face. His smile turned to a frown and as they drew close, Aziraphale hissed, “Crowley, what are you doing here?”

She looked between Aziraphale and the boy a few times before setting him back down and saying, “Go watch those bards for a few more minutes, okay?”

The boy nodded and with little reluctance ran right back over to watch.

Crowley sighed and put a hand on her hip. She was wearing a simple but nice dress – Aziraphale knew how hard it was to fake being a noble, and if this child was actually important, it would be even harder to fake. Still, a distant thought in his mind hoped she wasn’t living too poorly.

“I came here because of you,” she said quietly. “You mentioned being a knight in Camelot, and well… I could use your help.” Her gaze trailed back to the bards and the boy. “I found Lancelot in the woods, abandoned by his own family because he was sick. I healed him, but I couldn’t bring myself to return him, and I couldn’t leave him there either. So I decided to raise him.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

“I dunno, just – be kind to him? You’re an angel, aren’t you supposed to love everyone?”

“Yes, but–”

“So then love him! Just–” she pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Don’t get me kicked out of the city, maybe help find some friends for him. I just want him to live a life as normal as possible after his other family left him for dead.”

There was a brief moment of silence in the conversation as Aziraphale’s mouth curled up into a small smile. “That’s awfully soft for a demon, wouldn’t you think?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. “Will you help or not?”

“Of course I will,” he sighed. “I just hope this little – arrangement – doesn’t cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

~~~

“Can we go to the market again today, mother?” Lancelot asked, looking up at Crowley with pleading eyes.

“What for?”

He paused, eyes scanning the room as he searched for the words he needed. “I want to see the performers again. Do you not need to buy anything?”

“Why would I?” she snapped her fingers and a bushel of apples appeared on the counter. “We don’t really have to buy anything. I’m making enough money with this pointless human job to pay for the house, so–”

“Can we _please_ ,” he said, drawing it out and swaying in place in any attempt to persuade her.

She sighed. “Fine, we can go to the market. I’m supposed to go there anyway for work, so I guess I’ll let you run off for a little while.”

“Thank you!”

It didn’t take them long to get ready, Lancelot especially so. He was waiting by the door when Crowley finally came back, bubbling with excitement. They left together, and Lancelot was surprised to find the market just as busy as the day before. He had lived in a small village before this, where people mostly went into other houses to do their business. And the bards always stayed in the tavern unless a caravan was around, so he rarely got to listen to them.

He wove through the people in the crowd as soon as Crowley said he could, following the music to once again find himself in front of their small stage. After a few minutes of watching them sing and dance, he was surprised to look over and see another boy alone, who seemed to be his age. He had blond hair and was laughing at the jokes one of the bards had started saying.

“Hello!” he said as he approached the other boy. “My name is Lancelot.”

He turned his attention away from the stage and onto Lancelot. “Greetings, Lancelot. I’m Arthur.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Arthur.” He gestured to the stage, where someone had started to juggle. “Some of the stuff they can do is really cool, wouldn’t you think?”

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah. They’re probably the most entertaining booth here in the market, but they’re not the most entertaining thing. Now, if you want proper entertainment–”

“Where might I look?” he interrupted, eager to know what could possibly be more entertaining than the bards.

Arthur looked around the crowd quickly before stretching his hand out to Lancelot, a grin forming on his face. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Together they ran through the market and further into the city, deftly avoiding the knight’s patrols and stations. Lancelot was amazed as they grew closer and closer to the castle. He had never been in this area before, as he and Crowley weren’t really wealthy. 

Eventually they came to a stop, and Arthur crouched into his usual hiding spot behind the small wall near the training grounds. 

“Er, are you sure we should be here? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“Shh!” He said, gesturing for Lancelot to get down. He did so reluctantly, and they each took an arrow slit to watch through.

It was then that a group of knights exited the nearby castle barracks. They were clad in simple chainmail and carried dull swords out onto the patch of grass, where different dummies were scattered. Several of these were taken up by the knights, practicing timed slashes and hacks at the bits of cloth and twig, but a few others took it upon themselves to spar each other. 

Lancelot watched with wide eyes as the pairs that sparred drove each other back and forth across the grass, swords flashing brightly in the sunlight and ringing loudly in the courtyard as they clashed against each other. In that moment, he realized Arthur was right. It was very entertaining, and he suddenly found himself wanting a sword of his own. How he would convince his mother to get him one, was one thing. And finding a way to learn how to wield it would be another.

“Not again, Arthur,” Aziraphale sighed from behind them, startling them both as they were mesmerized by the fighting.

They both turned to face him, but had wildly different expressions. Arthur looked ashamed, but Lancelot was terrified. Before him was one of the castle knights, and there they were sneaking around the castle. Surely, as children, they couldn’t get into too much trouble, but he doubted he would get out of this unpunished. 

“I thought you promised to stop running from the knights.”

“You regularly run from the knights?” Lancelot asked. He began to think that his new friend was a criminal of his own right, which definitely wouldn’t help his chances.

“I just wanted to allow my friend here to see the knights practice.”

Aziraphale turned his gaze to Lancelot, his stern frown softening. “Ah. You’re Lancelot, aren’t you? Lady Crowley’s… son?”

He nodded meekly.

“Very well, Arthur, I will let you off the hook this once. But remember, a prince should know how to act better than this. Next time you want to leave, just ask so no one thinks you were suddenly kidnapped.”

“Prince?” Arthur shrugged when Lancelot asked.

“And Lancelot, you should make your way back to the market before your mother finds out you ran off. I recommend you don’t make her upset.” He smiled. “But don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

He nodded quickly, still confused that it seemed he wasn’t actually in trouble and that Arthur was the prince. However, he knew Aziraphale was right, so he said his goodbyes and hurried off, wondering how he would bring up the topic of his new friend to his mother.

~~~

There was a sharp knock at the door while Crowley was elbow deep in the dough she had made for another batch of dessert pies. She had learned from the Egyptians how to make them after Aziraphale seemed to like eating them, and she didn’t want it to fade out of existence. So, she spent her time with different known fruits and her dough, and was becoming quite popular in the city for this. Even the king asked for a pie, once, and now requests at least one per dinner. She hadn’t thought something as simple as this would take off so much, and now hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the arse.

“I’ll answer it,” Lancelot said before she could even begin to think of cleaning off her hands. He left his spot where he was watching her, trying to learn how to make these pies, and was slowly creeping up to her height.

When he opened the door, Arthur was leaned against the doorframe. He stood up when the door opened and smiled, walking right in. “Good morning, Lancelot. Lady Crowley.”

“Prince Arthur,” she greeted.

“Arthur,” Lancelot said, closing the door behind him. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

With an almost devilish grin, he revealed two wooden swords hiding under his cloak. Lancelot grinned as well, catching one as Arthur tossed it to him.

Crowley sighed. “Move the furniture out of the way first, please. We don’t want a repeat of last time, do we?”

“To save myself from that look of Aziraphale’s again, I will.” Arthur pushed the small wooden table to the side, opening up the room, and Lancelot moved the chairs. He barely sat them down before Arthur pulled his sword up and tried to hit Lancelot, causing him to have to dodge quickly.

They sparred in the now-open room, whacking each other with the wooden swords hard enough that it would definitely bruise later. But it was nothing they weren’t used to – they tried to find time to fight together at least once a week, if not more, under the watchful eyes of Aziraphale or Crowley. It was especially useful having one of them around, as when the fight turned particularly rowdy, they were often careless about their surroundings.

A vase hovered inches above the floor before it smashed into pieces as Lancelot stumbled into it. “Be careful,” Crowley scolded as it lifted back into the air and righted itself.

“Sorry!” Arthur called, jumping back and narrowly dodging the end of Lancelot’s sword.

She sighed as she stopped the lantern from falling off of the wall from an ill-timed swipe. “If you ever reach real swords while training, you’re not allowed to fight in the house!”

~~~

Arthur sighed as he walked into the kitchen, pulling the gold circlet from his head and discarding it on a small table next to the door before scratching the small hairs starting to grow on his chin. “Every diplomatic dinner is the same. Eat only a polite amount, be sure to make time to talk to each noble man and woman, and be sure to stay sober while drinking.” He plopped down in a wooden chair and lounged across it, picking up a nearby goblet and draining it. “They’re so boring.”

“At least you got to eat the food up there,” Lancelot chuckled, a meager plate of leftovers in front of him he was chewing off of. “Putting all that effort in and then all I get to eat has to be reheated over the fire.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining.”

“I didn’t mean that at all. You’ve every right to complain.” He swallowed before picking up a peacock leg. “Besides, this is loads better than what you’d normally find for sale in the market. I certainly wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

The sound of footsteps and voices echoed in the stairwell connecting the kitchen to the main room and Arthur straightened up, sitting properly in the chair before reaching for another goblet.

Aziraphale and Crowley entered together, heads bowed in what seemed like a serious conversation, but it immediately stopped when they caught sight of the two men in the room as well. Crowley, laden with dishes from upstairs, went straight for an open table. “You make pies once, and then you have to help make the food for an entire feast,” she muttered.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale smiled and clasped his hands together, saying, “Oh, what a wonderful dinner, wouldn’t you say? And Lady Crowley, the pies were as wonderful as ever.”

“You say that every time, angel.”

“And I mean it every time! I can tell you practiced with the Egyptians on the recipe.” Arthur and Lancelot sat a little straighter, looking interested in the topic of conversation. Upon noticing, Aziraphale chuckled and said, “Now, no story tonight boys. I think we had enough with that feast.”

Arthur groaned and looked towards the ceiling. “But there was nothing fun up there. And you still haven’t told us much of your time in Egypt, just that you’ve been.”

“It’s not a good story,” Crowley said. “Unless you like plague. Or should I say plagues.”

“Don’t say that near my father. He thinks the word is cursed and hates talking about it unless absolutely necessary. Which would mean we were currently in one.”

“Noted.”

“Surely there was something good you got out of the feast,” Aziraphale said. “There hasn’t been a meeting among the local kings and queens this large since – I’m not quite sure actually, but I don’t think I’ve seen one for as long as I’ve been a knight.”

“Well,” he drawled, taking a sip from the goblet. “I guess there is one thing.”

“Oh, how delightful! Do tell.”

“There was this – woman. Eyes as bright as the sun, a dazzling smile like the most expensive gemstones, hair as fine as woven silk sheets. She truly was a marvel to behold.”

“Sounds like someone’s in love,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “I hope you caught her name, for your sake.”

“Alas, I did not. The time we spoke was fleeting, and I’m afraid I was too nervous to say much. There was a strange twisting in the pit of my stomach, like I had bad food or too many sweets. I fear I would need a miracle to be able to see her again.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances across the room.

“I find it funny you mention that, Arthur,” Lancelot said, discarding the now clean bone. “I, too, saw a woman who caught my eye. Eyes as full as the moon, laughter as bright as the tinkling of bells, and freckles like the flowers dotting a hillside.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t talk to her,” Crowley said, moving to his side and taking the empty place from him. “You men haven’t a bloody clue how to deal with your feelings. Ever. You both found and lost your first love in one night. I fear for your future if you can’t grow a pair.”

“Then what of you and Sir Aziraphale?” Arthur asked, pursing his lips. 

“What of us?” Lancelot and Arthur both gave her looks, as the blush creeping up Aziraphale’s cheeks made it apparent he knew what Arthur was talking about. Amidst the silence, she looked around at the two of them and rolled her eyes, turning back to the stairs. “There are still more dishes upstairs. Lancelot, don’t make me and the rest of the staff still up there do all the work ourselves.”

“Get Aziraphale to help. Wait until the hall is empty and then you could just–” he raised his hand and snapped “-and then they would all be down here. You could even clean them with a snap too and save us work.”

“Tell me to work with Aziraphale again and you’ll be cleaning them alone.” She lifted the front of her dress and ascended the stairs, disappearing around the corner as Lancelot sighed and followed after her.

~~~

“Your Majesty,” Aziraphale greeted, crossing a fist over his chest and bowing, resting one knee on the ground.

“You may stand, Sir Aziraphale.”

He did, standing with perfect posture before him and awaiting his instructions.

“I called you here because Arthur seems to trust you the most among our knights. Now, I’m not asking to hear why this might have happened, or want to know how. And you’re not in trouble, either.”

“Is this about the skirmishes on the northern border?”

He nodded grimly. “It seems the kingdom to the north is waging war on us. I must go, must take charge of the knights as we try to keep them on the border and push them back into their own land. But, I can’t allow Arthur to come as well. He might be a knight now on his own, but if something were to befall me… I can’t let the kingdom fall in the hands of an unprepared stranger. He needs to stay here, and he needs to stay safe. I want you to stay here and guard him with your life. And you can take my official word, which I will spread to the other knights. If something does happen, I name Arthur the rightful heir to the throne, the one to succeed me when my time on Earth has come to an end.”

Bowing his head, he gripped his sword and solemnly said, “You have my word.”

A small breath of relief left his lips. “Thank you, Aziraphale. Your promise makes me feel better about leaving him behind. It’s for his own good – for Camelot’s own good, though I’m sure he will cause issues once he finds out.”

“I’m sure it will be nothing I haven’t handled before, your Majesty. Shall I tell the prince?”

He shook his head and stood. “I shall tell Arthur myself. It will give me time to try and ease your troubles. And–” he faltered. “Give me time to say goodbye.”

Bowing his head again, Aziraphale left the hall, a foreboding feeling following him out.

~~~

Arthur stood in the window, looking out over the near empty courtyard with his arm leaned on the frame. His other hand rested lightly on the sword strapped to his side, though there wasn’t much of a reason to have it. The castle was well protected, even with the bulk of the knights gone to defend the border. 

The castle was just as empty as the courtyard. It seemed only servants were left, bustling around and cleaning everything to keep it in top conditions. That’s why Arthur wasn’t surprised when Aziraphale started talking to him, as he heard his armor clinking through the hallway.

“Can I get you something to eat?” he asked softly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You barely ate anything yesterday. I think some food would do you good, maybe make you feel better.”

“Would it? Would anything make me feel better after being left behind?”

“Your father–”

“Left me behind to protect the kingdom, I know.” He turned away from the window and crossed his arms. “But standing around here with nothing to do when a threat harasses our borders–”

“He didn’t just leave you behind to protect the kingdom, Arthur. He left you behind to protect _you_. Your father loves you enough that he left you behind to ensure your safety, so that one day you can take over the kingdom as you’ve been preparing for all your life.”

There was an audible sigh as he turned away again, refusing to look Aziraphale in the eye. He was trying to save face, it was clear. But the minute shaking of his arms and the bright sheen in his eyes was not lost on Aziraphale. He was scared, worried, or both. And he didn’t want to show it.

“Look… how about we get some livelihood back to the courtyard? I’ll send word to Lady Crowley and have her send Lancelot up here. With only enough knights left to guard the city, you’d both have free range to the training grounds and the various weapons.”

It took a few seconds before he answered. His hands tightened and stretched out a few times as he mulled the idea over. Finally, in a low voice, he said, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

Lancelot was over in a relatively short time. It was like he or Crowley were expecting this, and had prepared for him to leave on a moment’s notice. Aziraphale took note of it, but it seemed Arthur didn’t, so he didn’t bother bringing it up. Arthur seemed to cheer up at the sight of him, and he didn’t want a chance to ruin the moment.

“I was wondering how long it’s been since you last sparred,” Lancelot greeted. “Afraid you’d grown rusty.”

“Me? Rusty?” He scoffed as he pulled two swords from the rack and tossed one to Lancelot. “If anything, you’d be the rusty one with all the pie dough you make.”

“Ah, but I have to cut the fruit to fill the pies, don’t I?”

“Are you implying you have sword fights with fruits? You might be worse off than I thought. You can sharpen a sword with those skills, but not your wit.”

It wasn’t long before their swords started clashing, their banter continuing as they pushed each other back and forth across the open training grounds. Aziraphale watched with a smile, delighted to see that Lancelot had been successful in getting Arthur out of his thoughts. Having friends around in times like these was just what he needed. Now, if only this sense of foreboding would go away…

Lancelot didn’t need a messenger to come to his house after that day. He showed up at the same time, regardless of the weather, to spar. It was like he knew Arthur needed it and was just waiting for him to reach out first. Arthur stopped moping about the castle as much with Lancelot busying his days. Before he knew it, the knights would be home, and his father back on the throne.

~~~

The funeral happened over the course of a few days. Arthur and Lancelot were in the middle of another spar, sweat dripping from their foreheads as metal clashed on metal, when the bells rang signaling the knights were returning and, more importantly, the king. Immediately, Arthur had to run off, for the clothes he was wearing were not presentable enough. 

He fell to his knees in front of the castle when the knights finally made their way through the city bearing his father’s body on their shields. Aziraphale was there by his side, but even he didn’t know how to react. All he could think about was how much it must have hurt to drop down onto the stone like that, and how Arthur probably didn’t even notice it in his grief. 

As the body was prepared for the funeral pyre, many in the city held a candlelight vigil for him. Day and night, the commoners brought their candles into the castle courtyard, kneeling before the building and lifting their lit candles in silence. There were only two places Arthur could be found during this – at his father’s side, or watching the people from high windows where they would not see him. He barely spoke to anyone who tried to talk to him. 

They burned him in that very courtyard, the fire reaching its flickering tongues several feet in the air as the structure the king was laid on burned to ashes beneath him. Many filtered in and out of the courtyard throughout the day as a solemn air filled the city and the fire continued to burn. Four people, however, stood there from the beginning, when the first spark ignited the wooden platform, until the end, when the last dying ember burnt out. Arthur refused to leave, so neither did those who cared about him – Aziraphale, Lancelot, and Crowley held vigil with him. Silently, Aziraphale prayed for the king and for Arthur. He hoped that Arthur’s grieving would be eased if he knew his father was in a better place. 

When only ashes were left of the pyre, not even a sign of the sword they left in his hands, and Arthur still didn’t move, gentle hands laid on his shoulders, causing him to turn. Aziraphale and Crowley were on either side, offering solace. They tried to convey the feeling through their silence. Arthur’s gaze then turned to Lancelot behind them, who tried to give him the same look. Arthur pulled away from them and turned back to the castle, climbing the steps quickly and silently. Crowley stopped Aziraphale from going after him, giving a minute shake of her head. Arthur needed a moment to be alone before his world continued to rapidly change from what he was accustomed to.

The next day was the ceremony. The kingdom couldn’t go for very long without a king, afterall, before falling into anarchy. All the knights gathered in the throne room as Prince Arthur walked slowly down the center of the room and up to the throne, where Aziraphale and the court bishop stood waiting for him. It wasn’t a choice Aziraphale had made, but was purely coincidental – the bishop said he sensed some holy presence around Aziraphale and thought he would be a perfect fit to help. If only he knew the truth…

Arthur knelt before them as the ceremony began. They were treated to a lengthy speech as the bishop went on about how worthy Arthur was and how he was indeed the rightful heir, due to both blood and his father’s word. Finally the bishop took the crown and scepter from Aziraphale and passed them onto Arthur, crowning him as king. The knights applauded politely as King Arthur stood back up before them, grief and determination filing his face as he faced the new dawn.

~~~

“I don’t understand,” Arthur muttered to himself as he tossed a scroll to the side of his desk and picked up another one of the unopened ones.

“What don’t you understand, your Majesty?” Aziraphale asked.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did I say about the titles in here?”

“Er, right. Sorry, Arthur.”

“It’s alright, Aziraphale. It’s just – you raised me just as much as my father did. Anything other than my name out of your lips feels wrong.”

“What don’t you understand?” he repeated, standing guard behind him. He still couldn’t believe Arthur’s first decree as king was to appoint Aziraphale to be his personal advisor, but was determined to be the best he could. Perhaps this was why Heaven had wanted him in Camelot watching over Arthur in the first place.

“Insurrection,” he sighed, discarding the parchment and turning to him. “I ordered more knights to patrol our northern borders. My father may have been successful in driving them off with his dying breath, but a transfer of power is usually when people are most likely to strike. Ever since, I’ve received word that the peasants in the local towns have been revolting against this idea, not because of the extra guards, but because of me.”

“What could they possibly have against a bright young man like yourself?”

“They were there. They saw bits of the battle from their shuttered homes. They think–” he faltered, rubbing his eyes. “They think I was hoping for him to die. That I wasn’t there because I was already planning to take over. That I didn’t fight to protect this kingdom, and therefore, I won’t in the future.”

“But that’s absurd! Your father kept you here because-” Aziraphale started before Arthur held up a hand to stop him.

“Please refrain from stating what I already know. Though I appreciate your willingness to defend me, you don’t have to defend me from myself. The knights are trying their best to placate them, but if this continues, I will have to find a way to earn their trust. The last thing I want is for anyone to die, knight and peasant alike, in this situation.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Well, Arthur, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Though he didn’t say any more on the subject as Arthur went back to reading the pile of scrolls, he was already trying to plot in his head a way he could help.

Once Arthur dismissed Aziraphale, needing no more assistance for the time being, he quickly made his way through the streets and knocked on the door to Crowley’s house.

“Knock down the door, why don’t you,” Crowley said from within, but as soon as she opened the door, Aziraphale could tell her expression turned serious even behind the tinted glasses on her nose. It must be clearly written on his face that something is wrong. “Come in, angel.”

Aziraphale hurried in behind her and looked around the room, finding Lancelot lounging around the table. As soon as he saw Aziraphale he sat up straight, his own concerned expression filling his face. “Is everything alright? Is Arthur okay?”

“Er,” he started, but he wasn’t sure how much he should divulge to him. Luckily, Crowley swooped in to help.

“Lancelot, why don’t you go into the market with today’s pies? You have a charming face, you might manage to convince others to buy for a higher price.”

“But mother–”

“No buts, Lancelot. I need you to do this for me while Aziraphale and I have a little… chat.”

Sighing, he stood and stacked the pies on a tray, purposely trudging along and dragging his feet to show that he didn’t want to do it. When he finally walked into the street and the door closed behind him, Crowley gestured to the table. “Wine?”

Aziraphale considered but gave in once Crowley pulled out a bottle. “A glass or two, sure, but I should really stay sober.”

“You look like a startled animal. What happened?”

Crowley poured a glass of wine for each of them as Aziraphale caught her up to speed. She took a sip when Aziraphale finished speaking before saying, “And you’re bringing this to me because?”

“Oh, Crowley, I need your help. Arthur is still a young boy – man, now, excuse me. He has so much on his plate as he starts as king, learning so much that he could only learn from hands-on experience. If the people don’t believe in him, then his confidence will vanish, and Camelot might too. My assignment is to watch over him, Crowley, I need to do something about this.”

She thought about it for a few minutes, swirling her wine idly in her hand. “Do you still have those books of prophecy?”

He looked taken aback. “Do I still – of course I do! I’m not going to let original scrolls written by the original seer be lost to history!”

“Then use them. Do you have any not in English? Chances are only you and I can read it, so make something up in it.”

“Make something up… I do think that could work. But what would convince the people that Arthur is the true king, and that he’s trustworthy?”

“Would they really believe that?”

“They’d have no choice.”

He thought about it for a moment, hand moving to rest on his chin. “Alright, I think I have an idea. But I'm going to need your help.”

~~~

Arthur waited for the people of court to settle in, sitting in his father’s chair at the head of the table. He felt uncomfortable, sitting in a more prominent position from those who were equally important in keeping Camelot safe and prosperous. Still, that was something to think about for another time. At the moment, he had more pressing matters: namely, the scroll Aziraphale wrote down for him of the translated prophecy.

When everyone was settled at the table and around the room, he raised a hand and the idle chatter fell silent. “I’ve called you all here because of a matter that was recently brought to my attention. A book of old prophecies was found and, when translated, spoke of Camelot.”

Murmurs rounded the hall as people spoke quietly to each other, making Arthur falter. He wasn’t quite used to appealing to the court yet, and this was an unprecedented matter. Aziraphale gave him a nod of encouragement from where he patiently sat, and Arthur mustered the courage together to continue.

“I have a translation of the ancient texts here, which speak of a sword trapped in stone that only the true and rightful king of Camelot may wield. If someone were to free the blade, it would mean they were pure of heart, trustworthy, and brave.” He clenched his fists to keep them from shaking and to try and control the tone of his voice. He let the people talk amongst themselves after the news to steel himself. In truth, he was terrified. He thought Aziraphale picked the worst time to bring this up, as if he couldn’t free the sword… But Aziraphale had encouraged him to bring the matter to court, to seek the sword for himself. He even offered to draft a map to the prophesied location for Arthur. Like the mantis mating, he felt it was only a matter of time before his actions had him killed by the rest of the involved party.

“Your Majesty,” one of the nobles spoke up, cutting through the din. “How can we trust the prophecy was truthful if you needed a translation? What’s to say it wasn’t made up for the amusement of this – this – sorcerer?”

“Sorcerer?” he asked, taken aback by the allegation so that he couldn't properly answer the question first.

The bishop nodded. “Prophecies can be useful, yes, especially if seen through the eyes of God. But we have no idea if this person has come on behalf of the Almighty, or if the Devil has brought him to our doorstep. Does the seer have a name?”

“He wished to remain anonymous.”

“Yes, I’m afraid most do, to escape the church.” He sighed. “At least something we can call him in the meantime? Surely, to seek an audience with you, he had to give some name?”

“You want his name?” He nodded, looking around the table. Aziraphale seemed concerned, and Arthur would never willingly give him away. Not even if it was the difference between life and death. Aziraphale cared for him too much, and in a way, the opposite could be said. “Mmmm,” he said as he thought, before remembering all eyes were on him. “Merlin,” he decided upon, and then continued, “and the sword was made and trapped by the – Lady of the Lake. There is only one way we know if the prophecy is true. If we find the sword, and someone can indeed free it, then we must believe in his words.”

“We will, of course, follow your lead sire,” a knight said. “What is it you would like for us to do?”

“I’ll lead a search party of anyone who wishes to volunteer. I shall then extend the invitation for anyone who wishes to witness the event to join, whether they be peasant or noble. The more witnesses the better, so that there is no doubt surrounding who is the rightful king.”

“And what happens if someone other than yourself removes the sword?”

He was hoping that it wasn’t going to come to this. Not yet, at least. He didn’t want to deal with the thought before it happened, if it ever did, if they even found this sword. But he already knew the answer. “I will pass the throne on, for though unprepared, we can not deny a prophecy. However, I do wish they would allow me to stay within the castle, as it is my home, and perhaps allow me to teach them. If there are no further questions, I think this would be better to approach sooner, rather than later. I would like to leave by midday.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” With the meeting now adjourned, the hall emptied, people eager to spread the rumor blossoming on their lips. Eventually only Arthur and Aziraphale remained in the room, both still seated.

Not needing to save face any longer, Arthur sighed and put his head in his hands. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Aziraphale.”

“Hmph. I’m certain I know better than you do, Arthur. I have been around since you were still wiping your snot on your sleeve, afterall.”

“You don’t think someone else is going to remove the sword then? What if the kingdom ends up going to some – farmer who’s never even heard of the term ‘politics?’”

“I believe in you, Arthur. And you should believe in yourself, too. You prepared for this moment all your life; you can handle anything thrown your way.”

“And you believe this Lady of the Lake – or whoever she actually is, since I did invent that – actually meant for me to find it?”

“Er,” he said, scratching his neck, “From what I know, she is very purposeful in her actions. There is very little she would leave to chance.”

“I trust you, Aziraphale,” he said, looking up again. “I just hope your information isn’t wrong.”

Aziraphale was alongside Arthur for the entire journey, leading the group of travelers together. He was glad Crowley hadn’t hidden the sword too far away, for it seemed as if half of Camelot had decided to come along. With the hastily drawn map Aziraphale drew after Crowley described where to go, it was a little difficult to find. They almost went in the opposite direction on at least two separate occasions. When they finally did find it, however, the sun was starting to set, casting glimmering golden rays through the tree leaves above them almost like a spotlight. A knight was the first to point it out, and the crowd immediately circled around it. 

Arthur stood inside the ring, looking around the edges as he searched for familiar, friendly faces. Lancelot, smiling in encouragement. Lady Crowley, winking. And finally, Aziraphale, who stepped away from the crowd to be with Arthur. It would take some of the pressure off of him, for now there was at least someone else the crowd could look at instead.

He took a few moments to ground himself as he examined the sword. It was elegant like nothing he had ever seen before. The forge in Camelot made the same basic weapons each time – with little variation, it meant a knight could easily pick up a fallen comrade’s weapon to defend himself without the need for extra training. This, however, would stand out in a crowd. The crossguard shone in the dying sunlight, a bright gold that matched the pommel. The grip was made of a fine brown leather, and the iron of the blade looked sharp enough to cut through several stalks of wheat at once.

He shook out his arms before approaching the stone, careful to watch for potential traps. It was not unlikely for great treasure to be hidden behind multiple, complicated traps, so it was strange to see a piece like this sitting freely out in the open. Though, when he reached the stone without an issue, he realized no one would have been able to move it anyway, so they couldn’t have stolen it. 

Arthur gripped the sword tightly with both hands, the leather smooth under his fingers as they slid into place. It was like the sword had been made for him. He tested it with a small tug, trying not to show it. It seemed pretty stuck in there, however, and was worried it wasn’t going to work.

Before he could pull it out, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. “Perhaps we should let others try first? That way, if it is you who frees it, the people know it was really trapped?”

“Oh.” He nodded and acquiesced, gesturing for Aziraphale to try. He gripped the handle and pulled to no avail, giving up mere seconds later. He knew, though, that the sword wasn’t moving for _anyone_ unless Crowley told it to, so he had faked it anyway. 

A few of the other knights tried after that, yielding the same result. A handful of other nobles and peasants tried too, until Aziraphale stopped the volunteers since the sun would set at any moment. He gestured back to Arthur, who nodded and gripped the sword again, fingers sliding into place along the grip.

He tugged so hard he stumbled backwards into Aziraphale as the sword easily came out, like it was only stuck in a pile of soft earth. He looked upon it in awe as Aziraphale held him steady. Once those nearby had gotten over the initial shock, they started cheering, a few of the knights even going as far as to lift Arthur up onto their shoulders as they proceeded back towards the castle. Aziraphale hung back this time, watching Arthur disappear through the trees with a fond smile.

“Told you it’d work,” Crowley said as she stopped next to him. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, wringing his hands. “Do you think the others up north who didn’t see this will actually believe in it?”

“Are you kidding me, angel? They’d believe the word of someone like themselves, and there were plenty of peasants here. Some of them even tested the sword for themselves. The kingdom should settle down now, and it will be smooth sailing for at least a few months.”

“Surely this would gain more than a few months of peace?”

“I think you’re a little too optimistic.” She shrugged. “With the humans? You never know unless you’re a proper seer. Besides, you never know who else could interfere, too.”

“Like an angel and a demon?”

“Exactly like an angel and a demon. Come on, let’s get going before they leave us behind.”

~~~

“So, how does it feel to be the Lady of the Lake?” Lancelot asked one day a few weeks later. 

Crowley stopped mid cut while slicing the apples in front of her to turn to him. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“Oh, sure. It’s not like only a few days prior to the revelation of the sword, you and Sir Aziraphale met and wouldn’t let me be here to talk. And it’s not like you disappeared in the middle of the night with a strangely sword-like object wrapped up in your hands.”

“What you’re speaking of is impossible. The Lady of the Lake–”

“Is you. You did find and rescue me by a lake, afterall.”

She hissed and turned back to her apples. “I wasn’t supposed to be mentioned. The others pressed Arthur, and he made up the name on the spot. How was he supposed to know how accurate–” she cut herself off when she noticed Lancelot’s smug grin. “Don’t you _dare_ tell Arthur a word of this. He needed the help–”

“I completely understand,” he said, picking up one of the apples and biting into it. “I would have done the same thing for him, had I had the necessary skills. Besides, the whole event has now made him even more popular and liked than his father was.”

“Did you hear he recently commissioned a local artisan to craft a large, round table? Apparently when he announced it, he said something about ‘not wanting anyone to take precedence over the others’ and ‘wanting everyone to feel they could sit at the table as equals.’ I’d say there’s more than just the sword behind the reason he’s more liked.”

“He truly was raised well.”

As Lancelot walked away, taking another bite out of the apple, something pricked in the back of Crowley’s mind. Something she should have remembered, or at least recognized when he said that. She had a feeling it was important too, or at the very least, not a good thing. But it was just out of reach, and she didn’t have the time to pursue it, so she let it fade away.

~~~

“Arthur, it’s almost time for the ceremony. Don’t you think you should be dressed?”

“Ah, right. Thank you, Aziraphale. I should go to the armory and–”

He cleared his throat, and the door to Arthur’s chambers opened as a few servants walked in with bundles in their arms. “I took the liberty of asking for your things to be brought up here, sire. I thought it was going to be difficult to pull you away from those scrolls in time.”

“Oh, er. Thank you.” As the servants started unwrapping the pieces of his armor and helping him into it, he continued, “Tell me, do you think it’s normal to be this nervous?”

“Well, it is your first knighting ceremony. These are vital in keeping the kingdom alive, as well as upholding traditions. Though, you did cause quite the stir in your revisions to the knight’s code.”

“I felt it necessary. Any man wanting and willing to serve the kingdom should be allowed to be a knight. It shouldn’t matter who their parents are, or what class they live in. Peasants can be just as honorable as nobles.”

“And I agree with you. Though, I do know the true reason you did it.”

He smirked. “What can I say? No offense to Lady Crowley, but I couldn’t imagine Lancelot being a baker the rest of his life.”

“Now you won’t have to.” He smiled as the servants quietly excused themselves, taking the now empty sheets and blankets out of the room with them. Arthur stood before the mirror, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to control it.

“I’m only glad Lancelot passed the test. And the other non-nobles that I will be knighting today. It really is a momentous occasion, more so than a normal knighting ceremony.”

“The first of many, I hope.” Aziraphale stopped him, reaching up to straighten Arthur’s hair himself. “After this is all over, however, you should really address the rumors you’ve been avoiding.”

“What rumors?”

He frowned. “You can’t keep ignoring the fact that everyone keeps asking you about Merlin and his prophecies. Especially the people wondering if he prophesied something and is the reason behind your new change.”

“I didn’t think the court would be this obsessed with the character I imagined. Truly, I am sorry for that. I will address this at the next meeting, you have my word. But really, what harm is there in letting them think we have a powerful ally that only has Camelot’s best interest in mind?”

Satisfied, he dropped his hands and stepped to the side, letting Arthur look into the mirror again. “For your sake, and for the sake of the kingdom, I hope there is none.” He grimaced at the thought that some of them believed he could be in cahoots with the devil. And yet, no one speculated nearly as much on who the Lady of the Lake might be… “We should get going. The ceremony can’t begin without you.”

It was, indeed, a grand ceremony. Aziraphale swore he saw a tear in Crowley’s eye when Lancelot knelt before Arthur, watching the blade pass over his shoulders as he was knighted. Crowley, of course, denied it, and it was hard to see with her glasses on anyway. A feast just like the one when Aziraphale was knighted followed after. It was clear Lancelot was awestruck – fellow knights congratulated him and he stood there with a smile, he kept touching the sword strapped to his hip as if it would vanish, and the fact that he was able to actually eat the food on the tables seemed to overwhelm him.

Aziraphale eventually approached to congratulate him as well. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it, Sir Lancelot.”

“Sir,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Me? Sir?”

He chuckled. “I understand. It’s a big moment. But soon, you’ll come to terms with it.”

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted. “What if I mess something up? What if I’m not ready?”

“You passed your test, just as all of us have. Believe me, I’ve seen many fail in my years. It’s a daunting and difficult thing to go through. Congratulate yourself in your success. Allow yourself to be proud of your accomplishments. I, personally, can’t think of a better example of the knight’s code than you. Honor, bravery–”

“Please,” he interrupted, a slight flush to his cheeks, “You needn’t go on. I understand and appreciate the point you’re making.”

“If you wish, I can help you. Follow me around for a few days, and I can show you the basics.”

“That would mean a lot to me, Aziraphale. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Of course, Lancelot. Anything for you.”

~~~

“I just don’t know about it, Crowley.” Aziraphale sat at her table with a glass of wine, wringing his hands.

“It’s just marriage, angel. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s an _arranged_ marriage. Why would they marry if not for love? Would they ever be happy?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the bottle between them, refilling her glass. “You clearly haven’t paid this close attention to marriages before. It’s all a political move – both sides can gain money, wealth, power–”

“Or just peace?”

“Or just peace, as in this case,” she agreed. “The kingdom this Guinevere is from wants to be allies with us, so they offered her hand in marriage. If you ask me, it was a smart move for Arthur to accept.”

“But what about their feelings?”

“Feelings schmeelings.” As she took a sip from her glass, she saw the worried expression on Aziraphale’s face further. Sighing, she said, “Look. If they truly are unhappy, they aren’t required to stay together. The law will make her his wife, but they could both have separate lovers. And when you’re a king, there’s a whole slew of people who would be more than willing to fill that position. Doesn’t matter age or gender – whoever he wanted, they would more than likely accept.”

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” he mumbled into his glass. “She’s arriving tomorrow, and the wedding is scheduled in a few days time, after the celebratory tournament. Arthur has asked for a few pies to show off your skills to her.”

“I’d be more than willing to help out on that front. And the tournament, that reminds me.” She pulled a handkerchief out from the folds of her dress and passed it across the table, where Aziraphale took it gingerly in his hands. “A token of good luck from me to you, to wear as you fight.”

“Oh… Crowley, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

He nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

When Guinevere did arrive, a huge procession took place. The knights lined the courtyard and entrance to the palace, leading up to Arthur waiting on the stairs. Lancelot and Aziraphale were the closest to him, and they all stood listening as the clattering hooves of the procession with Guinevere’s carriage made its way through the town up to the castle.

Arthur walked down the steps to greet her and help her out from the carriage. There were two specific things Aziraphale took notice of in that moment – both Arthur and Lancelot seemed to wear a similar expression of shock as she took Arthur’s hand and used it to step down to the ground. Something seemed important about that, and he was determined to ask about it later.

The tournament was an array of battles and similar events to entertain the people and celebrate the wedding. It started as soon as Guinevere and her servants brought in whatever had traveled with her, meaning there was little time for conversation between then and the first event. Aziraphale threaded the black handkerchief between a few links of his chainmail before putting his armor on. Of course, Lancelot was the first to notice.

“I see _someone_ gave you a token of good luck,” he smirked as he leaned against the tent pole in the doorway. Aziraphale startled, not having heard him come in.

“Oh, Lancelot. You surprised me. This – might be a token like you describe, yes.”

“No need for me to ask from who. That answer is obvious.”

“Well I seriously doubt–”

“My mother only ever wears black. Even down to the handkerchiefs.”

He sniffed as he stuck his nose in the air. “Alright, fine. Yes, she gifted this to me. But you don’t understand – it’s merely a token of luck. There is nothing else to it.”

“Tokens of luck are often synonymous with tokens of affection.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Lancelot, but I promise you, there is nothing between your mother and I.”

“Whatever you need to say to yourself, Aziraphale, I’ll let you believe,” he chuckled.

Since it didn’t appear he was leaving any time soon, Aziraphale took the opportunity to ask, “Earlier, when Lady Guinevere arrived. If I am not mistaken, you looked surprised when she stepped down from the carriage. May I ask what that was about?”

His smile dropped as his expression darkened. “It’s best I not talk about that.”

“Oh come on, Lancelot. You can tell me anything. I promise, this secret will not be heard by whomever you are trying to hide it from.”

Sighing, he entered the tent proper, letting the cloth flap fall back over the entrance. “Lady Guinevere… is the first woman I ever felt attracted to. It was a large feast, and I was just part of the help. I didn’t get the chance to talk to her, and I doubt it would have been long anyway. But still - I thought about her often, ever since then. I thought it would be impossible to ever see her again, but yet she remained in my thoughts. Now, however, she is betrothed to Arthur. I shouldn’t interfere, but it seems even harder to stop thinking about her than ever before.”

Whatever he had been expecting, Aziraphale was surprised by this revelation. He hoped it wasn’t apparent on his face. “I’m – sorry to hear that, Lancelot.” A bell rang out before he could say more, signaling the start of the first event.

“I should go; I’m in one of the opening fights.” He turned around without another word and left the tent, leaving Aziraphale to watch after him, concerned.

The tournament itself wasn’t too difficult, and was actually quite fun. The point was to display the knight’s strength as they dueled each other in events such as swordfighting, shooting targets, and, of course, jousting. Aziraphale only entered the swordfighting one, not very effective in shooting or riding a horse, but, as it turned out, most of his fellow knights wanted to fight him anyway. He had won tournaments like this many times over, and others were determined to overtake him and claim the title of strongest knight.

Lancelot’s behavior proved concerning as the spars took place, seeming to put more effort into this than ever before, like he was specifically showing off for someone. When he won another spar and was placed in the next round against Arthur, Aziraphale grew more worried.

“Do you know what’s the matter with Lancelot today?” Crowley muttered, sliding up to Aziraphale’s side from where he stood waiting for his next round.

“It’s a complicated story, I’m afraid. However, it seems Lancelot has, er, a _crush_ on Lady Guinevere, the soon to be Queen of Camelot.”

“Damn.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. While he couldn’t fully grasp the mind of a human, it seemed likely that this could cause issues if Lancelot continued down his current path.

It almost seemed as if Aziraphale or Crowley were going to have to interfere with the duel after it commenced. Lancelot, determined as ever, seemed almost ruthless as they crossed blades, chasing each other across the arena as they pushed against each other. By rule, none of the fights were to the death. They would continue until either one forfeited, or was otherwise knocked unconscious. As they grew up training together, their skills were evenly matched, and it was impossible to tell who was winning at any given moment. Arthur would parry Lancelot’s strike and manage to strike his side. The crowd would cheer. Lancelot would feint and strike in the opening Arthur left to dodge his strike. The crowd would cheer.

The moment Arthur was knocked on his back, though, and Lancelot held his blade over his throat – there was a spark in his eye. It was hard to identify exactly what emotion it portrayed. But the look still sent a chill down Aziraphale’s spine. It was evil. For a brief moment, he thought Lancelot was going to strike. Crowley tensed next to him, so it seemed that she did, too. Even the crowd seemed to be holding their breath. But the moment quickly passed and Lancelot tossed his sword to the side, offering his hand to help Arthur off of the ground. The spectators went wild.

“If he makes it to you,” Crowley said lowly, looking to the wooden scoreboard, “which seems likely at his rate, won’t you knock some sense into him?”

Aziraphale agreed, waiting anxiously for the next round to begin. Only a few remained until the final one, and seeing as he had beat his next opponent before multiple times, it seemed clear that he would be in the final battle.

When Lancelot won the rest of his fights, Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was relieved or anxious. Something seemed to change about Lancelot today, and he had a feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t temporary. He could understand what it felt like, not being able to be with the one you love – more than anyone could know. But it almost seemed like this was consuming him, and wasn’t something he could press on and come to terms with. 

He noticed Lancelot was distracted while they were fighting. He had won his previous battles through sheer force – extending it all in the beginning, he could easily overpower those who were trying to last through a longer battle. Of course, Aziraphale wasn’t human, so he didn’t have a certain amount of stamina to burn through. He managed to knock Lancelot down with very little damage actually dealt to him, and it seemed to sober him for the moment. Aziraphale was named the victor, and Lancelot smiled through Arthur’s teasing afterward, shooting back a few quick-witted responses himself.

It didn’t last for long, however. Lancelot was in the other two tournaments as well, having signed up for them all before Guinevere arrived. He pushed hard against his opponents there too, often showing off as much as he could. He hit all of his targets before his opponent and started shooting some of theirs as well instead of letting the round end. Whenever they jousted, he would parade around the other side whether he got a successful hit or not. He was clearly trying to draw attention to himself.

Even Crowley grew concerned. This behavior did not fit the Lancelot she knew and raised. She wasn’t sure how to address the issue, however. If Aziraphale winning against him couldn’t humble him enough, she wasn’t sure what would. So she decided it would be best to talk to the other person in Camelot who knows him as well as she does. Arthur.

“King Arthur,” she greeted, inclining her head in respect. 

“Lady Crowley,” he greeted with a smile. “What brings you to this side of the castle?”

“I wanted to personally congratulate you before the wedding. It seems to me that she is one lucky lady.”

“You flatter me, Crowley, but I must insist I am the lucky one here.”

“How come?”

“I happened to delight over her one feast a few years back. We had invited the local kingdoms for a reason that escapes my mind. In fact, one of the only things I remember about that feast is her. She was beautiful and elegant and I a coward. I could not pull myself together to speak to her for long. However, it seems it was destined for our paths to cross once more. Maybe God wanted us to be together. Whatever the case may be, I could not be more ecstatic than I am today.”

“Huh,” she said. Something about that sounded familiar. “Say, have you noticed anything strange with Lancelot lately?”

He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “He was eager to prove himself in the tournament, and I think he put forth a valiant effort. Almost won all of them, didn’t he? If it hadn’t been for Aziraphale, he might have gotten them all. Truly, I don’t regret my decision to allow him to become a knight. His skills are invaluable.”

“Alright,” she said, spotting Aziraphale rounding a corner down the hall and determined to catch him before he disappeared. “Well, I should let you get to your betrothed. I don’t want to hold you up too long.”

“But your presence is always welcome,” he smiled before acquiescing and continuing back down the hall.

With him gone, Crowley hurried down the hall, hissing, “Angel!”

Aziraphale’s head snapped sharply towards her at the sound, a look of concern growing on his face at the urgency she seemed to carry.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she muttered, looking around quickly before pulling him into the empty room next to them. “Both Arthur and Lancelot fell in love with Guinevere when they first saw her. It sounds like it was at some big wig feast. The only thing is, I don’t think either of them realize the other is in love with her. Well, Lancelot might because Arthur is betrothed to her, but that’s besides the point.”

“Hold on,” Aziraphale said, holding his hands up, “you’re going too fast.”

“It’s not that hard to keep up with.”

“I think it is, dear, you’ve just given me a rather large amount of information. So what you’re saying is… they both had a crush on the soon to be queen, and now Arthur is the only one who can act on it?”

She nodded. “It’s a love triangle. Two people love one person, but that person can only have one of them.”

With his hands, Aziraphale tried to make a triangle to visualize what Crowley was saying. He only managed an upside down V, but it seemed he was starting to understand. “Both of them connect to Guinevere… but she can only connect to one or the other. Do we know who?”

“Well, she’s marrying Arthur, so she might fall in love with him naturally. But, she could always decide Arthur isn’t the right fit and try to woo Lancelot instead.”

“There’s a problem with that. You mentioned before that – that the king and queen can have whomever they want, but the church wouldn’t like that. And, since the bishop is such a big deal in court, I don’t think Arthur would want to do anything to displease him.”

“And therefore, push this thought onto Guinevere too.” She stroked her chin in thought. “I guess there is another option.”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“She could ignore both of them.”

They let that thought sit in the air for a few moments as they each mulled over the possibilities. 

“Let’s hope it’s that one,” Aziraphale said with a sharp nod, but didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“That, or Lancelot gets over his crush. I’ll see if I can talk to him.”

“I just hope that whatever does happen won’t be devastating in the long run.”

~~~

Arthur sat on his throne, the room empty. His fingers drummed anxiously on the arm of the chair, a constant rhythm that seemed all too loud in the open room. He wondered if he should have asked for someone else to come. While he would have appreciated the advice, he felt this was a matter better dealt with alone. It was too personal to imagine even Aziraphale by his side.

The doors opened and he stilled his hand as a lone figure pushed through them and closed them behind him.

“You requested my presence, Arthur?” Lancelot asked as he walked towards him.

“I did.”

There were a few moments of silence as his words sat in the air, tension rising between them.

Clearing his throat, Lancelot continued, “What is it you wished to talk about?”

“Do I really need to say?”

“I really don’t know what you are asking of me, Arthur.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I didn’t want it to come to this. But if you won’t admit to it–”

“Admit to what, Arthur, I haven’t–”

“You made unwanted advances on my _wife_! We aren’t commoners, Lancelot. That is the queen, and you are a knight bound by a code. Do you not remember your oath?”

His frown curled into a sneer. “So just because you’re the king means you get everything you want, even at the expense of others?”

“Lancelot–”

“I love her!” he yelled, voice echoing off of the rafters. “Every – every thought I have, every dream, every waking moment, since I first saw her years ago, has been of her! I just wanted to know, Arthur. I wanted to know if she would ever feel the same for me. If she had ever felt the same for me. You don’t know what longing and heartache is when servants tend to your every need.”

“Do you really think so?” he said, fists clenching. “Ever since _I_ saw Guinevere, I was besotted. We talked for but a brief moment at the feast, but she seemed perfect to me. Not a week after our wedding she admitted to me that she found our conversation oddly charming, and had grown quite fond of the thought of me. She loves _me_ , Lancelot. And I her. I worked as hard as you have to get here. The servants merely help out. I still had to train and learn all by myself, suffering bruises only I could feel, gaining frustration only I could gain. You saw my first weeks as king, if it hadn’t been for that prophecy–”

“It was fake.”

An exasperated sigh came from Arthur as he pushed his thumb and his middle finger into his temples. “Stop lying, Lancelot.”

“I swear I am telling the truth! Just ask Aziraphale and my mother. Yes, you heard that right, I know Aziraphale is this Merlin figure you invented and keep having to dodge around. I hope that comes back to bite you. The prophecy was fake. The Lady of the Lake is just my mother, who stuck the sword in the rock and then used her magic so only you could pull it out. Does this sound like something I would make up?”

“Whether you speak the truth or not, I will not allow you to change the subject any further.” He hushed Lancelot as he tried to speak again, pushing himself off of the throne. “Previously I had seen you as a brother, Lancelot. We were practically raised together by Lady Crowley and Sir Aziraphale. But I can not excuse this attempted adultery. Lancelot, you have violated the knights code, and therefore are stripped of your title. Normally an act of such kind against the queen would result in your execution, but–” he faltered. “I still care about you too much to do that. I banish you from our lands. From now on, if you are seen within the borders of the kingdom, you will be killed. You have until sunrise to gather your things and leave.”

“Arthur–”

“Leave! Before I change my mind.” He turned away, unwilling to face Lancelot anymore and to hide the tear that spilled down his cheek. It left a trail as it slowly slid across the surface of his skin, all the way down to his chin. Only once he heard the door open and close again did he allow himself to wipe it away.

~~~

Aziraphale and Crowley stood side by side in Arthur’s chambers, worried. It clearly wasn’t official business, as he didn’t call them to meet in the throne room, but it was still concerning nonetheless. Especially because he hasn’t seemed the same ever since he banished Lancelot.

Arthur stood with his back towards them, looking forlornly out the window and across the courtyard. It was currently empty, as the rain that hammered the glass before him didn’t make for great training weather. 

“Is it true?” he said quietly. “Is it true what Lancelot said before he left. Did you really lie about the sword in the stone?”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, tilted his head, and then closed it. It seemed that, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. Crowley took over instead.

“We only wanted to help you. You were just starting out, and you needed a way to prove your honesty to those rebelling against you. So, yes. We invented the lie as an easy way for you to prove your worth and hopefully end the revolts. It did do its job, didn’t it?”

He turned back to them and picked up a scroll from his desk, glancing over it. The seal had been broken a while ago, but it was a clean break – clean enough to tell the symbol on it meant this was an official message from one of the nearby kingdoms. With a sigh, he tossed it back on the desk. “They’ve declared war. I received word a few weeks after – after Lancelot left from the kingdom. They seemed upset that I would consort with sorcerers, claiming they side with the devil. If I didn’t give up the true name of Merlin, or at least renounce him and his precarious position within the kingdom, there would be consequences. I was blinded by my grief and turned it down. I know you, Aziraphale, would never consort with the devil.”

“And because you said no they’ve declared war.”

“This is… this is our fault,” Aziraphale said solemnly, shaking his head. “Forgive us, Arthur. We never meant any harm.”

He held up a hand to stop him. “Save your apologies, Aziraphale. I know your intentions were true. What happened in the past is in the past. Right now, I need to worry about what to tell the court. I’m calling an emergency meeting as soon as you leave.”

“Do you want us to help you think of something?”

“I think you’ve done enough.” He dismissed them quietly.

Aziraphale moped in the hallway, a somber mood hanging in the air. “What have we done, Crowley?”

“We did what we thought was right in the moment. Even a demon and an angel can’t predict the future.”

“But – Arthur’s in no shape to fight. His best friend, practically brother, betrayed him and was exiled. He hasn’t had enough time to fully recover.”

“We need to help him. We need to give him and his knights motivation.”

“But look what happened last time we helped!” He ran his hand down his face. “This was my assignment, Crowley. To look after Arthur. And look at what a mess this is turning out to be!”

“And Lancelot was mine,” she admitted lowly. “I thought… when the scroll appeared, and I knew you were nearby, I was scared. I thought, maybe if you were around, then your angelic aura or something would counter whatever plans Hell had for him. I didn’t know I was doing exactly what they wanted. I didn’t know – Lancelot was better than that. I truly don’t know what happened.”

There was a pause as Aziraphale took this information in. “I suppose we both failed our assignments then.”

“Or did exactly what we were supposed to do. Look at how much good Arthur has already done. Do you consider that a failure?”

“...no.”

“The angels and demons out there, they don’t know what Earth’s like. They don’t know what it’s like to be human. They see everyone as pieces in some divine game. They never pay attention to the fine details, to what makes each human unique and worth loving. They see them as tools to use, and once they have been dulled, they are to be thrown away instead of carefully sharpened again. It won’t be a failure to them, angel, because they fail to understand what living is.”

He sighed. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try and convince Arthur to let us perform another magical act, would it? If he is still going to stand by Merlin’s side, maybe it would help him convince the knights.”

“We can try, angel. We can certainly try.”

~~~

They stood before the lake together in silence. The stump Crowley was on when he first found Lancelot had rotted, now riddled with holes and sagging to the point that it might fall over with one swift kick. Arthur had agreed, though reluctantly, to listen to their plan. And, since he was included, he felt more comfortable going along with it. He agreed, he might as well go all in at this point. And since the court had reacted reluctantly, maybe it would convince them too.

“Off you go,” Aziraphale said after a while, gesturing to the gentle wind -blown waves lapping at the shoreline.

“Why do I have to go in the lake?”

“Because it’s easier.”

She huffed. “This was your idea. Why don’t you go do it?”

“Oh yes, allow me to spend the time we don’t have taking my armor off so that it doesn’t get waterlogged and eventually start rusting.”

“You can be so pretentious sometimes, you know?” Still, she took the new sword in her hands as he passed it to her, etched with runes of old languages no one speaks any longer to give it a mystical feeling. “Will you perform the miracle then?”

He nodded. With a sigh she waded out into the water until she was submerged completely. Aziraphale quickly hid in the bushes nearby, waiting for Arthur and the small group he had gathered to arrive.

Ten minutes later they broke through the treeline, Arthur at the lead with a grim look on his face. The others oohed over the seemingly hidden lake, even commenting on how it looked to be glittering like magic. He hadn’t started anything yet, however, so that was just the sun.

Arthur approached the shoreline and waded in up to his knees as the group quickly grew silent. They watched with rapt attention as he started speaking.

“Lady of the Lake, you once bestowed upon me the sword which you had trapped in stone, claiming only the true ruler of Camelot would free the precious metal. I call upon thee to request your help. War threatens the kingdom at the thought of us befriending those who have used magic. We request your aid to help defend your honor.”

That was the cue. Bubbling rose to the surface of the lake a few feet in front of Arthur. Slowly, a giant watery figure emerged in the shape of a woman. At its heart there seemed to be someone trapped, but their figure was hard to see through the rippling and cascading water. The figure blinked once, waterfalls pouring back into the lake from the movement, and then began to speak.

“King Arthur, you have proven yourself to be of noble spirit and heart. You were able to free the sword for a reason, and the kingdom has prospered as a result. Under your rule, it will continue to grow, and peace will be known throughout the land. You ask for my help in such a daunting task. I have not much to offer. There is a blade lost on the bottom of this very lake – one which has not rusted, and is claimed to hold the power of God. I shall gift this to you now, along with the knowledge that while I will not be physically there when you fight, you shall still feel my presence.” From the depths of the lake, another dark figure rose within the water. This was incredibly slim, however, and the other picked it up. 

The court gasped and hurried backwards as the watery figure approached the shore. It stopped before Arthur, drenching him in its spray as the center parted. Two hands emerged from the water bearing the sword, which he accepted with a bow of his head.

“Thank you. Your gift will be put to good use.”

“I hope it will serve you well. Farewell, King Arthur, and good luck.” With that, she turned around and started to go deeper into the lake. After she was far enough away, she disappeared entirely, the water falling back into the lake with a roaring splash, loud enough to be thunder.

Aziraphale watched as the others took interest in the lake becoming still and quiet again. They helped Arhur out of the lake and congratulated him. Some wanted to take a closer look at the sword. He could see that Arthur’s grim expression hadn’t gone away, but it had softened enough to reveal a tired look in his eyes. It was in the way they wrinkled without a reason to, and in the way a half-hearted smile didn’t make it anywhere close to his eyes.

Eventually, the group disappeared back into the woods, deciding they had been there long enough and should get back before something happens that they weren’t prepared for. Aziraphale waited another ten minutes to be sure they were gone before coming out of his hiding place. Crowley did the same, her red hair breaching the surface first as she lifted the hem of her dress to climb out.

“I guess that went well,” she said, stepping onto the shore and immediately bunching the fabric of her dress up to wring it out. 

Aziraphale seemed focused on something else, however. He was still staring at the last spot he had seen Arthur. “He’s not going to make it through this, is he?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you sound awfully pessimistic there, angel.”

“There is a prophecy. A real one this time. For the longest time I didn’t know what it meant, but… to spare you the trouble of reciting the entire thing, the important detail is that Arthur is to be the once and future king, coming back to unite the kingdoms as one.”

She didn’t answer for a moment, water spilling over her hands and to the ground as she squeezed it out. “He looked tired, didn’t he?”

He nodded.

“I suppose… I suppose this is it, then? I’m not much one for goodbyes.”

“But we might see him again in the future. Don’t take this as a goodbye, but as a see you soon.”

“Well then… I’ll see you soon, Arthur.”

A tear ran down Aziraphale’s face and he quickly wiped it away. “I have so many fond memories of this place. I don’t want to forget.”

“What if we leave a mark of our own behind on the landscape then, shall we? When we see it, we’ll be reminded of what we did here. The good, and the bad.”

“Raising Lancelot and Arthur, watching them grow, and then the eventual fall of Camelot.” He shook his head. “But, I suppose, even Rome did not last. What did you have in mind, my dear?”

~~~

Arthur broke through the treeline once more, alone this time. The lake was calm and soothing, gentle waves lapping the shore. He had returned to thank Aziraphale and Crowley. It seemed their stunt had convinced the knights to fight for him. 

There was no one in sight, however. Not even a trace of a footprint on the ground. There was something he hadn’t seen before, though. He swore it had just been a rotting stump, but a towering, thick oak tree now stood tall in the middle of the clearing, swaying gently in the breeze. Arthur looked up at the branches and smiled for a brief moment, entranced by the movement. Eventually, he shook his head and gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, disappearing back through the trees to find what the future had in store for him.


End file.
